I hate three of my four kids because they all forced me into being a mother. At nine years old I decided I would marry a rich man, tour the world and never have kids. My first husband was a pilot in the days when Upper Class people flew and dressed up and the ragged, shopping bag, going-to-Vegas low class trash didn't have a choice but to take Grey Hound.

We flew all over the world and low and behold I found myself pregnant with some brat who turned out to be a boy. We dragged him along like a sack of potatoes until he was seven at which time I decided it was time for boarding school in England. He screamed and ranted and begged. But it was o good. His fate had been decided the moment he was born.My first husband whom I'd married at 29 diedin an automobile accident one year after my son was in boarding school. Good riddance. I'd been trying to extricate myself from the marriage for years due to his philandering ways I myself had had an affair or two just to spite him.

Husband number two was a flaming gay. I am pro gay and was against Proposition 8--by the way. By sheer accident, I got pregnant before we were married; he forced me not to have an abortion and we got married. The minute the baby was born he started sleeping with other men. Shit! I put that one in boarding school when he was five. I just couldn't get into the breast feeding (no way are my breast going to sag for the betterment of children), the cake baking and P.T.A shibang.

Husband number three was a member of the diplomatic Corp. We traveled to and lived in no fewer than six countries in four years. Somewhere along the line--this was the sixties for heaven's sake--I got pregnant. Another damn accident. I was drunk the night he was conceived and forgot to insert that nice little toy. Baby number three was evil from the day he was born. He took one look at me, locked eyes and bawled and bawled. His eyes were evil. We never bonded. He resisted me from the day I took him home. His will was intransigent, implacable. Never met a kid like that before. But I kept him around much longer because husband number three who was also gay had a lot of money and threatened to expose my affairs to our friends.

Husband number three had sex with other men in front of me and humiliated me over and over again; telling me I couldn't give him what his street lovers could give him. Finally when baby number three was six he died from an infection he contracted up while touring somewhere in North Africa. Yahoooo! I was free. I packed urchin number three off to boarding school--holiday camps at Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. No coming home for you buddy, and went on to meet the love of my life to whom I'm still married.

I had my fourth and he belongs to Mamma. He loves and adores me and will inherit my $3.3 million estate. He used to dress up in al my clothes and wanted to be Marilyn Monroe.

All I can say is this: If you don't own the souls of your kids, motherhood's a bitch.